


what comes with spring.

by volacious



Series: fixing it. [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Elio is 18, Fix-It, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volacious/pseuds/volacious
Summary: Elio really should be excited that it’s spring now, but with spring comes the knowledge that the only person he’s ever loved is getting married to someone else.





	1. part one.

It’s warm now.

A fact that both excites and sends a shiver of dread down the length of his spine. In the winter months, he had an excuse to hide away, to mourn in the privacy of his bedroom, because there was nothing else for him to do. Now, it’s expected of him to be outside. Normally, he would be thrilled at the prospect. As a child he’d hated being inside, regardless of whether he was in Italy or the States, and the moment he was allowed, he’d go traipsing outside in his odd graphic shorts, searching for anything that might amuse him.

Elio really should be excited that it’s spring now, but with spring comes the knowledge that the only person he’s ever loved is getting married to someone else.

A soft shout from his mother reverberates from downstairs and Elio’s lids flutter back to reveal the ever-changing hues beneath. He groans. He doesn’t want to be awake, but he knows that he has class and his mother will keep badgering him until he rises and gets a start on his day.

It’s not warm enough yet for the shorts he prefers to wear during the summer months, but in the afternoons it grows too warm for the jeans and long-sleeved shirts that he wears during the winter months. He settles on a pair of pale, loose jeans and shirt with the logo of a band he stopped listening to when he was twelve decorating the front. He doesn’t bother to fix his hair, he doesn’t care enough to, and simply makes his way down the dark steps until he’s able to reach the dining room that is only used when the weather isn’t warm enough.

“ _Good morning_ , Papa,” Elio greets once he lays eyes on his father, dipping his head to place a kiss on the older man’s bearded cheek. He does the same for his mother, except she holds him there for a bit longer.

“You’re going to be late if you eat so slow,” His father comments, light-heartedly.

“I’ll be there on time, Papa. I’ll leave as soon as Marzia arrives.”

Most would find it strange that the girl he’d slept with and lead on was now his best friend, but they were too compatible to not continue to enjoy each other’s company. Neither of them had an interest in pursuing a romantic or sexual relationship with one another and, in fact, Marzia had just met a man at the college they were attending. He was happy for her.

“Oh!” His mother exclaims and he quickly turns his gaze from the toast he’d been buttering to the woman seated next to him. “You received something in the mail. I’m not sure of its location right now — seen as how your father reorganized the office — but I’ll get it you later.”

He’s curious as to what exactly is within the contents of what he’d gotten, but soon the front door is swinging open and he’s launching up out of his seat. “ _Ciao_ ,” Elio calls as he grabs for his bag that’s set just inside the dining room. There’s a piece of bread hanging from his mouth and as he struggles to get his shoes on he can hear Marzia laughing at him, but he pays no mind to her.

“Pay attention today, Elio! No matter how boring it gets.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Soon, he’s outside the door of the home that’s become his family’s permanent place of residence since he’d decided to attend a college in Italy. It was a decision he thought hard about and one he had, admittedly, made out of cowardice. The United States was an incredibly large area, that much he was aware of, but he couldn’t quite risk the possibility of ever running into Oliver — or his fiancé.

“ _I wish I was like you. Getting bored in a college class because I already knew it all_ ,” Marzia teases as she mounts her bike and Elio does the same. He scoffs at her and waves a dismissive hand, earning another soft laugh from the female. “ _Though, if I was as smart as you I would have gotten out of Italy. No harm in exploring the world_.”

“ _Every place has its flaw, Marzia. You’d get bored of wherever you went, eventually_ ,” He counters, trying not to sound quite as cryptic as he was feeling. It was the season. Once summer reached their villa, he would be happy again. Content. Or, so he hoped.

Their commute to the college is a rather short one. Luckily, it’s seated on the outskirts of the small town nearing his home. It’s convenient, a well-managed school with staff who seems to care, and all of the topics that Elio wanted to study. He had a plan for it, while Marzia seemed to be just rolling with whatever her counselors suggested. There was no shame in that, however. Not everyone had been raised like Elio.

“ _Has he called again_?” Marzia questions as they rest their bikes against the wall surrounding the college. Elio’s stomach churns at the thought of answering her, but he shakes his head anyway, not wanting to leave her wondering.

Wondering was, quite possibly, one of the worst things in the world.

“ _It’s been a few weeks. Do you think he’s given up_?”

Marzia knows that Oliver calls every now and then. And Marzia knows that Elio is “never home” to receive any of the calls. His parents have spoken with the blonde American a time or two, but after that phone call on the sixth day of Hanukkah, he hadn’t so much as heard Oliver’s voice. He’s growing irritated with the line of questioning and Marzia knows it, so she quickly drops the subject and instead begins to talk about the assignment due in the one class that they shared.

 

&&&

 

It’s difficult to sit through most of his classes. Not because it’s boring, though it is, but because he knows that each and every topic brought up is one that Oliver has studied or would enjoy. He’s constantly tortured by thoughts of the man who had loved him for a summer and then had promptly left, seeking a new life that his parents would deem appropriate for him. A wife, two and a half kids, and a dog that would never get walked. The mental image made him sick to his stomach.

Oliver’s engagement is part of the reason why he won’t pick up the phone when it rings anymore. On the off chance that it is the blonde, Elio doesn’t think he has the courage within him to congratulate him or pretend like he’s happy. Because, he’s not happy with what the other is doing, even if he won’t readily admit it to anyone. It destroys his heart each and every time he thinks about it.

He’s got a notebook and pencil out on the small desk at the back of the lecture hall, but he’s not taking notes, even though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s writing Oliver’s name down like he’s some prepubescent child who’s got their first crush. Except, when he’s done writing the last letter, he quickly scratches a line through it, before repeating the process.

Oliver. _Swhip_. Oliver. _Shwip_. Oliver. _Shwip_.

Over and over until he feels as if the ache in his heart has dulled some.

The papers he’s ruined with his incessant scribbling are deposited in the trash bin once class is over and he shuffles out in the courtyard, where he waits for Marzia. They both still have a class to attend, but luckily they have an hour to relax before they start. He’s starving and desperately craving the sandwich that Mafalda had put in his bag that morning.

Soon, Elio spots the brunette who’s adorned in a bright yellow dress and he walks over to her, running into her purposefully upon seeing the bulky male she’s walking with. “ _You bringing your date along for lunch_?” He asks, eyeballing the new individual and Marzia scoffs at him, pushing him off of her.

“ _Maybe I’ll replace you with him_ ,” She retorts in French, which the man beside her clearly doesn’t understand. He laughs.

They settle down on an empty bench in the courtyard and Elio pulls the small brown sack from within his bag, before searching around inside of it until he's able to produce the sandwich. He bites into it and looks around as Marzia flirts with her newest conquest.

It doesn’t look like spring yet. Not to him, anyway.

The sky is a dull and muted grey, clouds keeping the sun from view. The trees are beginning to get their leaves back, but they too seem to be without color. They’re not the verdant color they normally are. They’re _boring_. Elio sighs heavily as he swallows more of the sandwich, now eating it out of obligation rather than hunger. His appetite always seems to disappear during the dormant months of winter and it never truly comes back until summer, when he is always moving and doing things he isn't supposed to be doing and he's in need of the extra nourishment and energy.

He’s so spaced out that he doesn’t realize a full hour has nearly passed when Marzia shakes his shoulder, attempting to get his attention. He turns his gaze to her and sighs heavily again, releasing a snicker from the female.

“ _Are you tired of studying, smart one_?” She teases and Elio bumps against her, scowling.

Maybe this dullness would be okay for the time being.

Maybe.

 

&&&

 

“ _Ciao_.”

His voice echoes throughout the house and he figures that the other residents must have gone into town, leaving him to his own devices for a few hours. He sets his things down and kicks off his shoes, before he’s wandering into the room where his father and Oliver had sat for countless hours during those six weeks. He runs his fingers over the spines of some exposed books, before his eyes land on a creamy envelope settled on the table at the center of the room.

Elio approaches it, curious, and lifts the parchment from the table. He rotates it until he can see the top and immediately his stomach lurches.

 _Boston,_ _Massachusetts._

It’s can’t be a coincidence and he knows that. He wants to throw the envelope out the window or into a fire or tear it into a thousand pieces. He wants for it to be unrecognizable to both himself and others. However, the curiosity regarding the contents is too great for him to do any of those things. Perhaps it was a letter from Oliver proclaiming that he had been foolish and had called off the engagement and was on his way to Italy at that exact moment.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

With deft fingers, Elio unseals the envelope and pulls the firm bit of paper out into the open. His eyes scan over it and he immediately wishes that he had destroyed the very item within his hands before he had had the chance to read it.

 _Oliver Abrams and Coraline Provan,_  
_invite you to celebrate their_ _  
happy union on March 23rd._

 _If you are able to attend, please_ _  
__inform the groom/bride._

In a split moment the paper is torn. And torn again. And torn again and again and again and again until the pieces of paper left on the table resemble nothing of the artsy invitation it had been before. He leaves it there, unable to look at it any longer, and makes his way to the room.

Spring was awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hi what's up. surprise, surprise, i'm not dead, just suffering from some severe writer's block when it comes to my other fics.
> 
> but, i'd been putting off watching cmbyn bc i heard it was hEART WRENCHING ( which it was ) but i finally watched it today and was ... inspired to make a fix-it fic bc elio and oliver deserved better than just a less than six week romance, okay ???
> 
> a few notes about the story:
> 
> 1\. this is based on movie verse. i haven't read the book nor will i probably bc i'm lazy.  
> 2\. i know nothing really about the 80's, but i have googled a few things to make sure everything makes sense. don't fact check me tho bc this fic isn't here to be 10000% accurate. if u want that read an encyclopedia.  
> 3\. as i mentioned before, i'm lazy, so i'm not gonna do the whole google translate thing. dialogue in italics is either italian/french, dialogue out of italics is in english. that'll be going on throughout the whole fic.  
> 4\. elio is 18 in this since a few months have passed & i'm not sure when his birthday is ( we can just assume mkkkk ).  
> 5\. this fic is planned to be ten chapters long, but i do plan to post one-shots that go along w it as a series, so ya know stayed tuned after i finish this.
> 
> that's all, i think. comments & kudos & bookmarks seriously fuel me to want to do better/be better/set up a schedule that you guys can rely on. so, gimme all of them and i will love you forever.


	2. part two.

“ _He’s an asshole_.”

The words sting him in an unfamiliar way as he utters them, because he knows he doesn’t really mean them, but how else can he describe the tall, statuesque blonde, and his insensitive and oblivious behavior? Elio could have used words that were far nastier, that put his rage on full display to all around him, and it would have been appropriate. He had every right to curse out Oliver.

And yet, he could only utter that single insult.

“ _He is_ ,” Marzia agrees, legs spread out on the street-lit, cooled concrete of the sidewalk. “ _If I was to ever come face to face with him again, I’d surely give him a piece of my mind. Perhaps make it so he and his little fiancé can’t breed and produce spawn_.”

There’s disgust lingering in Elio when Marzia says that. The thought of Oliver with anyone else doesn’t sit well in his stomach, even though he knows he no longer has the right to feel that way. The American man is no longer his.

“ _Why would he invite me, Marzia_?” He questions, wanting to get his mind off Oliver in bed with Coraline Provan. “ _Isn’t that just a disaster waiting to happen_?”

This wasn’t the first time that they’d had this conversation. He shouldn’t have even been talking about it again, seen as how it was the 23rd and it was far too late for him to attend. He was just torturing himself with the constant and consistent thoughts of the ceremony that was undoubtedly taking place. Torturing himself trying to figure out the why.

The brunette shrugs as she produces a pack of cigarettes, offering one to him, before placing one between her own lips. Elio watches as she attempts to light it. Once, twice, before she finally gets a flame on the third try. The lighter is passed to him next and soon he’s inhaling the tobacco that has a habit of relaxing his body, if only somewhat.

“ _Perhaps he wants to get you out of his system. One last time. Roll around in bed for the night and then act as if nothing happened the next day when he marries her. Some sick, twisted form of closure_ ,” Marzia offers as an explanation and it only proves to make Elio feel worse than he had before.

They sit in silence for a long time, smoking their cigarettes and flicking the ashes onto the cobblestone of Crema’s streets.

“ _Sometimes I wish that it had never happened_ ,” Elio murmurs after the silence has become too long, too awkward for him to bear. “ _Him and I. It did more damage than good, I think_.”

He takes another drag, eyes trained on his dirty sneakers so that he doesn’t have to acknowledge what he just; so that he doesn’t have to see Marzia’s reaction. He hears her hum, but she says nothing in response to him, only continues to smoke her cigarette.

“ _I think he thinks the same thing, you know? He wouldn’t feel so … conflicted about getting married if it wasn’t for me. He’d be the perfect son, the perfect husband, the perfect father_.” His hands are shaking now, but that doesn’t stop him from lifting the cigarette to and fro from his lips. “ _And I wouldn’t be so fucking hung up on some stupid blonde American who came to study with my father_.”

Elio is frustrated. Frustrated with his situation, frustrated with himself, and frustrated with Oliver. Frustrated with everyone else for not being as impacted as he is, though how can they even begin to feel the emotions that course through him? Nobody shared in the relationship he had with Oliver, nobody else had witnessed the raw and volatile emotions that they had produced for one another.

Nobody, nobody, nobody.

“ _I don’t know that I will ever witness another romance quite as … empowering as the one you two experienced. I don’t know if I will ever have something of a similar nature. But, I think if you had never experienced this, there would have been a part of you left empty. A part that never would have been found or filled_ ,” Marzia says around her cigarette, staring up at the night sky. “ _I wasn’t a part of it and I didn’t know until after he’d left, but I can see it now and I can see how it is impacting you. Both positively and negatively_.”

Elio’s hand is soon wrapped up within the woman’s and he looks up, not bothering to try and hide his emotions from Marzia. She had probably already figured them out.

“ _Don’t forget about it or him. Be angry with him. Curse the stars and the earth that he’s gazed at and walked upon. You have every right to do that. But, grow with this sorrow. You deserve happiness that doesn’t stem from one person_.”

Elio nods and removes his hand from hers, so that he can wipe at the moisture that’s gathered on his tearline.

“ _Thanks for the cigarette_ ,” Elio says as he stands, dropping it to the ground and rubbing it out with his foot. Normally he’d be a bit more conscious of the world around him and dispose of it properly, but he doesn’t care. “ _I’ll see you tomorrow_.”

Marzia doesn’t say anything in response to that and merely hums again, watching him as he mounts his bike. His eyes have grown wet and red-rimmed due to the emotions that are welling up within him and it only grew worse as he approached his home. The place where all those painful memories had occurred. He sits outside for a longtime and doesn’t go in until the sun has fully set and he has no choice with the way the bugs are beginning to eat him alive.

The moment he walks in, his mother is standing in front of him and he ducks his head so that she can’t see the pure anguish decorating his features.

“You missed dinner,” She says, though it’s obvious there’s something else on her mind. “We tried to hold out, but you know how your father can get when he hasn’t eaten by eight.”

Elio nods and lets out a small, forced bit of laughter. “It’s alright, Mamma. I didn’t expect for you to wait. I’ll just grab something from the fridge.”

He toes off his shoes and expects her to leave, but instead she stays where she is, regarding him as if she’s attempting to break some awful news to him. “Oliver calls,” She finally informs him and Elio’s eyes squint shut. He can’t do this right now.

“Uffa, did you tell him about the wedding invitation?”

“Ah, I didn’t. I meant to congratulate him on his marriage and apologize because we weren’t able to attend, but he seemed … distressed.”

Elio pauses, curious, but keeps his resolve intact and shakes his head. “Ah, I’m sure his wife will comfort him. Anyway, I’m going to go to bed. Good night, Mamma.” When his mother attempts to speak again, he quickly cuts her off with another “ _Good night, Mamma_ ” and a kiss to her cheek. He doesn’t hesitate to bolt up the stairs so that she can’t tell him anymore.

 _Oliver is married_.

The thought is now implemented in his mind. March 23rd. Today. Perhaps he was getting married right now, perhaps it was a few hours until the ceremony. Elio wasn’t sure what time it was wherever Oliver was at, nor did he particularly want to know. Maybe, he could live in his little fantasy world for a little longer, where Oliver hasn’t made a commitment to anyone and could come running back to Crema any minute now.

Could come running back to Elio.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, he glances at the door where Oliver had stayed during his time in their home. He frowns as he finds that the door has been left ajar. He hasn’t seen the inside of that room since after he’d discovered all of Oliver’s things had been removed and his had been put back in their rightful places. He wasn’t able to stay in there, not anymore.

Elio’s eyes are on the floor as he pulls the door shut, before he cuts through the bathroom and into his own bedroom. He walks to one of his windows and pushes it open. His room is stuffy, suffocating, and even if the bugs come in, the fresh air will be worth it.

He peels his shirt from his skin and his pants soon follow, until he’s able to collapse on his bed in nothing but the underwear that are too baggy on him. He tosses and turns until he’s found a position that he thinks he’s comfortable in.

Luckily, sleep comes to him easily that night and so do the dreams of that stupid blonde American.

 

&&&

 

It’s not morning when he lifts his head from the pillow and he squints at the opened window, trying to figure out who the hell could be driving towards their house. Elio pushes himself up from the bed and walks over, peering outside, trying to figure out if he knows who the vehicle belongs to. He doesn’t, so he assumes it must be someone coming to see his parents. Why at such a late hour, he has absolutely no idea.

An annoyed sigh falls from his lips as he makes his way into the hallway and eventually down the stairs, in the direction of his parents’ bedroom. He rubs at his eyes as he walks towards his father’s side of the bed and shakes the older man until his eyes are open.

“ _There’s somebody outside_ ,” Elio mumbles and jerks his head in the direction of the front door.

“ _What_?” His father questions, bewildered.

“A car. Outside. It’s gotta be for you, I’ve never seen it before.”

After a bit of grumbling, his father wakes his mother and Elio quickly vacates the lower floor, eager to go back to sleep. Once in his room, he settles back down and nuzzles his face into the pillow. He’s about to fall back asleep, his dreams picking up where they left off, when his name is shouted again and he lets out an annoyed groan.

“ _Ai, Mamma! I’m trying to sleep_ ,” Elio calls.

“Elio, come downstairs.”

He huffs and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, eyes closed as he stretches slightly. He doesn’t know what’s going on and his half-conscious mind isn’t processing things quite as quickly as it normally would, but soon he’s wandering back downstairs. He stops at the bottom to rub at his eyes, attempting to clear any bleariness from them before he has to deal with whoever is here. He stretches again and a loud yawn tears its way from his throat.

He’s standing in the doorway before he really opens his eyes to observe their visitor, but when they do open he’s stunned. Elio swears that the man a few feet from him is merely a phantom, one that only truly exists in his mind and he can’t help but stare for as long as he does.

Everyone is staring at him. Waiting for some sort of reaction. His mother’s foot is tapping against the ground, only adding to the anticipation he’s feeling as he attempts to process this, and his father is scratching at his beard, likely waiting for some sort of altercation to go down.

And then there’s Oliver, whose expressive, cerulean eyes are lingering on his figure. Oliver who is wearing a tux that was obviously meant for the wedding that Elio was invited to. Oliver who is standing right in front of him, something that Elio has craved for months. Oliver who has already ignited some part of him that he hadn’t known existed until months ago. Oliver who is everything to him.

And yet, all he can feel is betrayal.

 

&&&

 

Elio had been awake for nearly thirty minutes and he’s heard his mother call him for breakfast, but he hasn’t moved from that spot on the edge of his bed.

He hadn’t slept very well that night, had locked himself away in his room after Oliver had attempted to approach him. He had backed away like a wounded animal cowering from the predator that had injured it in the first place. He had retreated to his room even as Oliver’s voice and his parents’ rang out in an attempt to make him stay.

Elio can hear the chatter, the laughter, from downstairs and he raises his hands to his face. He lets out a groan that he knows none of them will be able to hear and then another, until he feels as if he has enough courage to wander downstairs. He pulls his shorts up as they fall a bit and they’re now riding higher than they’re meant to, but he doesn’t particularly care.

The brunette runs a hand self-consciously down the front of his shirt when he’s descending the stairs, eyes trained on the ground and suddenly he’s standing in the entryway, in plain view for the others to see him. Their words cease, stopped mid-laugh, and instead a silence settles over them as if speaking alone was a crime now that he was there.

Elio was sick to his stomach.

He sits in the seat that’s furthest away from the large man. He doesn’t kiss his parents’ cheeks or greet them as he normally would, not trusting his voice to remain steady should he begin to speak. He doesn’t know how he feels towards them, either. Should he be angry they’re chumming it up with the very man who had filled his heart and soul, only to take it away? Should he be relieved that they didn’t hate Oliver as much as he did in that moment?

He didn’t know.

“Elio,” He hears from a few feet away from him and he doesn’t have to look up to know that it’s his father speaking to him. That soft, yet scolding tone is far more familiar to him than any other.

“ _D_ _on’t_ ,” Elio snaps in Italian, toes curling beneath the table. He doesn’t want to deal with this. He had just gotten settled in the routine of his life, everything was starting to feel normal again. He had been starting to feel whole without Oliver.

The brunette’s eyes fall to the table when he notices a bit of crimson spreading out along the white fabric of the cloth and he immediately grabs for his napkin. _Why now_ , he thinks as he brings the pale object to his nose to stop the bleeding that has started. A habit he’s had since he was a child when he was under great amounts of stress or when the weather changed too quickly. He was cursing it now. It made him look vulnerable.

He stumbles away from the table and ignores the concerned looks that are tossed his way as he rummages through the icebox. With a few ice cubes within the napkin, he presses it back against his nose and then leaves the others’ gazes completely. He finds his spot, the small corner where he often sits through these incidents, and tilts his head back against the wall. Hazel hues remain on the ceiling as he curses his very existence.

Elio only shifts where he’s looking when he hears a soft noise to his left and soon his eyes are locked with Oliver’s. They stay like that, staring at each other, for what feels like a lifetime. As if they’re suspended in time. But, the trance is broken as Elio decides to stand and begins making his way towards the stairs. His room was his place of refuge.

He’s just reached the bottom step when Oliver’s voice rings out, clear and true and desperate. Elio’s voice had sounded like that once too. The day that Oliver had discovered him with the peach. The day he had realized that their summer escapades were all going to end too soon. And it hurts him to his core when Oliver says his own name in that tone. He wants to turn, repeat his own name back, play in their little game.

But, he can’t.

He climbs the stairs and lets out a heavy sigh once he’s at the top. He’s not as tempted to reply anymore, even with the mental image he’s conjured up of Oliver in his head. Sad eyes, pursed lips, tense shoulders. He’s likely going to go back to sitting with Elio’s parents and they’re all going to sit together for a breakfast that’s lost all cheer. He feels a bit guilty for having caused that, but he settles down on his bed regardless and tries not to think about it too awful much.

Turning his head slightly, Elio’s eyes landed on pale blue fabric that had become more and more faded with each wash. He reached out for it and held it between his hands. It no longer smelled of Oliver and he had begun to wear it less and less since he’d received news of the wedding. It didn’t feel right to wear it once he knew Oliver was engaged.

With a sigh he set the napkin and ice down on his side table, not worried about it melting, and laid down on his back, soft fabric in his grasp. He rubbed his thumb over it. Over and over. While wishing that they could’ve just stayed suspended in summer forever.

Then, they never would have been going through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got ... really long i apologize eorgeigejrg.
> 
> anyway !!! wowie zowie what the hell is oliver doing and why is he in italy ??? tf
> 
> as always, comments & kudos & bookmarks are my lifeblood and keep me going.


End file.
